Wednesday, May 18, 2016

SAY IT!

Saw the new Rocky Horror Picture Show trailer yesterday. People bitched about it. It's what people do. I am interested in seeing it. Whether I wait for it to come on cable or spend the $47 to see it in a theater is yet to be determined.

The funny thing about the new trailer was not the sense of nostalgia or indignation it stirred in me. I felt neither of those things. What was funny to me was the way it brought me back to my dad being locked up for a time. In fact, I spent the better part of the day yesterday trying to remember as much of the details as I could.



I was somewhere around six years old. My grandmother was renting a house from some guy and he sold the place without warning. Then he told her she had to vacate. Like, right now. So she called my dad and Uncle Charlie to come get her shit.

We all showed up with a truck and boxes and got gramma packed and loaded. From what I recall next is that we got her loaded up but, not fast enough to get her out by the time her landlord wanted her out. This lead to a confrontation between the landlord and gramma. Mostly, him yelling at her.

Dad interjected and told the guy to back the fuck off, that we were moving as fast as we could and gramma was going to be completely out that day even if it is after dark. The guy made two mistakes. First, he assumed that because he towered over my dad he had nothing to fear. Second, he touched gramma.

This next part I don't have to try to remember. It scared me like few things ever have. Also, I should point out that my dad was an amateur fighter for a time and was coached by a guy who would eventually coach a world champ.

The landlord grabbed gramma to physically remove her (I assume) and dad's right hand smashed his face. Then it kept smashing his face to the point where the guy was unrecognizable. I started screaming, Uncle Charlie tried pulling dad off of the guy and dad threw him off like a rag doll. The guy was down, dad's hand was swollen. After dismissing Uncle Charlie, dad returned to the landlord, picked him up and beat him with his forearm.

By the time the police arrived, dad was covered in blood and his hand was shattered. The landlord was a bloody heap on the ground, his face unrecognizable.

They were both arrested for assault (landlord for assaulting gramma) and taken away.

For the next few weeks I slept at my step-monster's parental units' home. They put me to sleep in the basement room. They had early pay cable. Every night at midnight Rocky Horror would come on and I would drift off to the Time Warp. Night after night.

The circle is complete.

Dad, what's a 'transvestite'? 

Titty sprinkles!